


Blood and Fire

by rivkat



Category: Smallville
Genre: Futurefic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-09
Updated: 2011-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivkat/pseuds/rivkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Petra's Porn Week and astolat's prompt, Smallville, Clark/Lex, lyrics to <a href="http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/indigogirls/bloodandfire.html">Blood and Fire</a>.  Centuries later, some things come full circle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Fire

Clark woke up when someone knocked on his door, which was unusual enough to bring him quickly to full awareness. On the Watchtower, people usually used the comms, and Clark couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a visitor to his quarters.

He pressed the button to open the door and saw—

 _Time travel_ , was his first thought, then: “How did you get up here?” he demanded, shoving Lex up against the reinforced plasteel of the station wall, the curve of Earth hanging blue-green-glorious over Lex’s shoulder.

Lex smiled, not nicely. “After a hundred years they cleared out the security files on me,” he said. “I’m a new recruit.”

He wasn’t wearing Kryptonite; Clark would have felt it, and probably had an even more severe reaction given how long it had been since he’d been exposed. Clark released Lex and stepped backwards. “But—” he said, and floundered for the next question. It had been years since he’d had a civilian identity, and his reporter’s instincts were blunted and vague.

“It’s a clone,” Lex said, all smug certainty. “Do you like it? I had it made just for you.”

The resemblance was exact, Clark realized, nothing like Lex’s early attempts, or his later evasions of the law through transfers into completely new forms. Physically perfect, down to the scar on his lip. Clark couldn’t even imagine the amount of engineering that had gone into producing this version, Lex at twenty-one when they’d just met. Skin like porcelain, arrogant curve of skull, eyes blue and vast as the Kansas sky after a storm. Lex had been so vulnerable then, for all he’d seemed untouchable to fifteen-year-old Clark. Clark’s instincts told him to protect and defend that arrogant, beautiful boy at the same time he wanted to _hurt_ Lex for all he’d done in the years since Smallville, before he dropped off the map entirely forty years back. Clark could feel himself shaking.

“Are you going to invite me in, or shall we do this in the hall?” Lex asked silkily, and Clark forced himself into his Man of Steel posture.

“What do you want?” he asked, even as he backed into his room and allowed Lex to follow. He told himself that he was only worried about what Lex might say to the current League members. Clark had been around enough decades that there were more than a few skeletons in his closet, nothing truly bad, but plenty of it hard to explain if you hadn’t been there. And Lex had the skills to make Clark look like the villain, if he told certain stories just right.

“What I’ve always wanted,” Lex said, and snaked forward, cupping his hands around Clark’s face as he raised himself up to kiss Clark. It was shocking and soft at once, Lex’s mouth nothing like the practiced seduction Clark would have expected.

Clark got kissed a lot, as a matter of fact, grateful rescuees and people grabbing the chance of a lifetime (and occasionally a handful of his ass, because some of them decided to go all out). Sometimes it was annoying and once in a while it was nice, but those kisses were as distant from Lex’s as the blue Kryptonite from red. He’d been kissed by heroes, people he admired, people he knew anyone would have been happy to be with, but Clark hadn’t felt an answering spark since—

“Stop thinking,” Lex said. Had he added telepathy to the clone’s arsenal? Lex pulled back and shook his head slightly, which didn’t reassure Clark at all. “We’re all that’s left,” Lex said, more softly. “We’re the only ones who know what it was like, in the beginning.”

That, at least, was true, if like so many of Lex’s truths slanted to his own purposes. J’onn was off exploring the galaxy, Carter Hall was five reincarnations in and no more pleasant to hang around than he’d been when Clark first met him, and none of the other long-lived members of the League knew Clark’s history. No one remembered Chloe’s smile, or Tess’s strength, or Lois’s utter fearlessness.

None of which actually explained the kiss. On the other hand, the kiss wasn’t brain-breakingly hard to explain, especially with Clark so forcibly reminded of the early Smallville days by the clone’s pristine appearance.

Clark would probably have to chase Lex across the solar system to bring him to justice in the morning. The knowledge made him lean forward and nip at Lex’s mouth, biting just softly enough to avoid breaking skin. Lex swayed into Clark, his hands already slipping over Clark’s chest and shoulders, feeling the muscles outlined under his costume. “God,” Lex gasped as Clark moved down to his neck, “you just kept getting bigger, didn’t you?”

Clark made a sloppy, agreeable noise, chasing the taste of Lex’s skin (perfectly human, sweat and musk, no sign of the magic and technology that had to have been used to produce him) back behind Lex’s ear, cupping one palm around the hot smooth back of Lex’s head. The bump of bone at the base of Lex’s skull fit perfectly into his hand.

Lex pushed him backwards, towards the narrow bed, stripping as he went—maybe not telepathy, maybe telekinesis, because Clark could’ve sworn his hands never left Clark’s body, but somehow he was nude by the time the backs of Clark’s thighs hit the mattress. Sitting, Clark had to look up to see Lex’s face, the smug twist of his mouth telling Clark just how dazed his own expression must be. Lex was circumcised, shockingly retrograde, his cock flushed red and tempting, already wet at the tip.

He cursed in a language Clark didn’t recognize—dead, most likely, resurrected only in Lex’s mind—when Clark wrapped his hand around Lex’s dick and ran his thumb up the warm, veined line of it.

Clark sucked the head into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it as if he had super-taste along with the rest of the abilities (decades since anyone’d called them that: Superman had _powers_ , but Clark had abilities, and he knew exactly which one of them was sucking Lex Luthor’s cock). Lex rocked forward, insistent, and grabbed Clark’s hair in a way that would have been unforgivably rude if they hadn’t both known just how well Clark could take it.

He allowed Lex to push further, until he was all the way down Clark’s throat, his muttered imprecations nearly disguising the small needy sounds Clark barely recognized from himself. Clark wished he’d known this, known he wanted it, back at the beginning, and for a moment all the lost chances overwhelmed him, bringing tears to his eyes even as he palmed Lex’s ass to pull him closer.

Clark knew better than anyone else that he couldn’t change the past—that never worked out well. It was foolish to ignore the present in favor of regrets, especially when the present was Lex, his eyes closed and his mouth open. Clark stared at his kiss-darkened lips and the vulnerable curve of his jaw as he fucked forward, as if he could get any further inside Clark.

Clark let his hands move down, grasping Lex’s thighs, the skin there so smooth and warm. His grip tightened just enough to let Lex know that he wasn’t going anywhere without Clark’s permission, and Lex grunted and came, legs shaking with it.

After Lex hissed, Clark leaned back, licking his lips. “Fuck,” Lex said, staring down at him wide-eyed; Clark was proud of having reduced him to the Anglo-Saxon.

With a flash of superspeed, he had Lex stretched out on the bed, and he only slowed down to pull off his uniform because he expected Lex would appreciate the view. Lex’s eyes were half-lidded, postcoital, but his attention was all on Clark. “I can’t believe you go out in that,” he said, and Clark looked down to see his erection distorting the admittedly formfitting fabric. It was as pornographic as the conservatives had always accused him of being. “Look at you,” Lex said thoughtfully, nearly a whisper. Clark shivered.

Clark pulled the top off with the cape attached (he remembered how to do it without looking like a total fool; it had only taken a year of Lois laughing until she fell over for him to get the hang of it) and then lost the briefs, tights and boots.

Lex, with admirable sleight-of-hand, produced a packet of lube just as Clark was about to give in and superspeed to the infirmary in the buff. He did have to wonder about the telekinesis hypothesis, given that Lex didn’t exactly have an obvious hiding place for the stuff, but he had more interesting things to think about at the moment.

Clark imagined watching Lex open himself up, but if he only had one chance then he wanted everything, so he tore the foil open and went to work. Lex folded his thighs towards his chest, elegant as a pornographic Japanese carving, and Clark pressed two fingers into him. Hot and tight—the clone would be a virgin, Lex would have been careful to make sure there was some way in which Clark could change this body further—gripping him close and secret. Clark pulled out hastily and used the rest of the lube. Before he could think any more, he pushed inside Lex with one careful, steady thrust.

Lex was staring at him now, all traces of langour lost, desperately hungry—the look Clark had seen and misunderstood, or maybe understood too well, back in Smallville. His hands clawed at Clark’s shoulders, not thoughtless but certain in Clark’s invulnerability, the only thing that could ever match Lex’s unending desire. Clark shifted his weight forward, forcing Lex’s thighs apart, opening him up. Lex craned his neck up and bit Clark’s lower lip, and then they were kissing, as filthy as the fucking, Lex’s tongue searching his mouth like an explorer staking his claim. Lex was sweating and their chests slid and caught against each other. Clark felt the twitch of Lex’s cock against his abs (oh, to be twenty-one again—okay, maybe not, but he appreciated it in Lex’s clone) and redoubled his efforts as he worked one hand between them so that he could help Lex out.

Lex groaned into Clark’s mouth and then sucked on his tongue. His fingernails scraped over Clark’s shoulderblades and his knees pressed into Clark’s sides, as if he were trying to envelop Clark and eat him up at the same time.

Clark sped up again, to the edge of human sensation, and Lex clenched around him, coming again, too soon for it to be only pleasurable. Clark closed his eyes and let himself follow, like flying into the heart of the sun and emerging from the other side.

Lex’s breath, gradually slowing, was loud over the sound of his heartbeat, and under that the familiar thrum of the Watchtower. Clark could have heard more, but he didn’t need to.

Lex, making no move to untangle them, put his hand on the nape of Clark’s neck, his fingers tugging at the ends of Clark’s hair. “Should’ve done that two centuries ago,” he said, and if there was an edge there, that was okay. Clark wasn’t about to bleed.

So: “Maybe,” Clark said. He couldn’t let himself think this was anything but a temporary truce. But temporary was a flexible concept where they were concerned; the guy who said ‘in the long run, we’re all dead’ had plainly not accounted either for Kryptonians or for Lex Luthor. “We don’t have to wait another two centuries for the next time, though.”

This time Lex did shift, the wet and sticky skin of his chest and stomach rubbing against Clark and making him shiver. “I was thinking more like twenty minutes.”

Clark rumbled agreement and wrapped his arms around Lex, pulling him even closer. If that was how long he had, he’d take it. Even if—when—their reconciliation fell apart, he wouldn’t give up on Lex.

As Lex had just proven, they had all the time in the world.


End file.
